Читать книгу Midnight Investigation - Sheryl Lynn - Страница 11

Wishing her town house had an attached garage, Desi lugged the heavy box of paper toward her house. At least, the weather had been dry and she didn’t have to fight ice and snow piles to get from her car to the front door.

Her next-door neighbor came outside, spotted Desi and made a small sound of surprise.

“Hi, Annaliese,” Desi said. “Could you help a girl out and unlock my door?”

“You have been out?” the older German woman asked.

Desi shifted her grip. The sun was blindingly bright, but the temperature was about twenty degrees and her hands were ice. “Yeah, and I’m about to drop this box.” She moved so Annaliese could take the keys clipped to her purse.

“Well!” Annaliese hurried to unlock Desi’s door. The concrete porch was too small for more than one person at a time. Instead of letting Desi enter, Annaliese stood there and frowned.

Desi adored her neighbor, but the box was growing heavier by the second. “Go on in,” Desi said, and put a foot on the concrete step. “Please.”

Annaliese shook a finger. “I thought you were home. I was coming to tell you to turn down the television. It is so loud!”

“I never leave the TV on.”

“Oh, yes, you are such a good neighbor. Never any noise or parties.” She clamped her hands over her ears and swayed side to side. “Oh, oh, oh! My walls are shaking.”

Now Desi realized the noisy television she assumed came from another town house in the row actually came from her house. “Let me in. Go. I’m about to drop this on my foot.”

Annaliese went inside and held the door for Desi. Sure enough, her television blared at full volume. Desi put the box on the floor, dropped her purse and rushed to turn it off. The silence was instant and blessed. She stuck her freezing hands under her armpits and turned to her neighbor.

Annaliese smiled, showing very white teeth. “This is so unlike you, Desi.”

The television remote lay on the coffee table. Spike. Desi couldn’t remember if she’d been watching the news before she left to run her errands. If she had forgotten to turn off the TV, and the cat walked on or sat on the remote, he could have pressed the volume control.

“It won’t happen again,” Desi said. “I promise.”

Annaliese blew air between her teeth. “I believe you. All done now. You must promise to come over later. It is so cold I have to bake. I am making olive bread. Old, old family recipe from Germany.”

Annaliese loved to bake, but she always claimed an excuse for it—it was a holiday, or somebody’s birthday, or it was raining. She even said once that it was so miserably hot she might as well make cookies to justify the heat.

“I can’t wait,” Desi said. “I’m sorry about the noise. It will not happen again.”

Desi followed the older woman out, returning to her car to collect the rest of her bags. It was definitely possible Spike had turned up the volume on the TV. The more Desi thought about it, however, the more positive she felt that she had not left the TV on in the first place.

After carrying the rest of the bags inside, she called, “Spike? Here, kitty. Where are you, bad boy?”

A meow answered. She looked around and heard paws pattering frantically against the basement door. She opened it and the cat sauntered out, his tail flipping in annoyance about being locked in the basement.

D ESI SANG ALONG to the golden oldies radio station as she keyed numbers into a spreadsheet. Piles of receipts were spread across her desk. She’d spent an hour organizing scraps of paper for her client. She liked Joe. He always fed her a big plate of his special lasagna whenever she visited his Italian bistro downtown. She hated his habit of filling a paper sack with receipts without making the slightest effort to sort them by type or date. He was almost as bad as her sister. But at least she didn’t have to scour his restaurant to find mislaid papers the way she had to at the antique store.

Spike jumped onto the desk. She picked him up, again, and set him on the floor. He stretched against her leg, unsheathing his claws. “Ow!” She shoved him away. He sat and glared at her, tail twitching. “What do you want? You’re driving me crazy this morning. I already fed you.” As soon as she began typing, he stretched against her leg again. His claws pricked through her jeans. “Ow! That’s it!” He tried to run, but she caught him, tossed him onto the basement stairs and closed the door. “Cat jail for you.”

The phone rang then, so she settled back in front of the computer and answered.

It was Gwen. “Guess what?”

“I’m busy, Gwen.”

“You’re always busy. But you’ll never guess who I ran into at Chico’s.”

“Paul Newman.” Desi peered closely at an invoice. The printer ink had been low and the numbers were only partially printed.

“Didn’t you hear? He passed away months ago. I saw your cute cop friend.”

A ripple ran through Desi’s chest and belly. Buck had called but, uncertain if she wanted to go out with him, she’d let it go to voice mail. She hadn’t listened to his message yet. What if he ate with his fingers or flirted with servers or was a lousy tipper?

“The girls and I stopped in for nachos and a beer. There he was. He’s even cuter out of uniform. He was with a friend. Will. Have you met him?”

A most unpleasant image of beautiful Gwen chatting it up and laughing with Buck formed in Desi’s head. Buck drowning in Gwen’s eyes, and sneaking glimpses of her ample breasts while she charmed him into following her to the ends of the earth and slaying a few dragons along the way.

“Buck and I don’t have a personal relationship,” she said. “I don’t know his friends.”

“You should. Will’s a hoot. He had me laughing so hard I almost peed my pants.”

The scene in Desi’s head shifted to the Mexican restaurant with its cozy booths and dim lighting. The girls, as Gwen called them, were her two best friends. The Three Blonde-keteers, Grandma used to call them when they were in high school. In her mental scenario they charmed Buck and his friend with intimate conversation and lots of flirting.

“I really am busy, Gwen. Let me call you later.”

“Buck asked about you.”

“He did?” She winced at the eager squeak that came out of her mouth.

“He wanted to know what you do for fun. I told him you’re a total stick in the mud, but you like to hike. Turns out he hikes, too. He likes you, sweetie.”

Warmth replaced the sourness in her stomach. She went into the kitchen to make a fresh cup of tea. “I barely know him,” Desi said. She studied boxes of herbal teas. She bet Buck would be an excellent companion on a mountain trail. He wasn’t the type to run his mouth and make a lot of noise, and he sure wouldn’t have any trouble keeping up no matter how tough the trail.

“The girls and I voted,” Gwen said. “You two are meant for each other. It’s unanimous.”

Laughing, Desi selected blackberry tea, filled the cup with water and put it in the microwave.

“Don’t laugh,” Gwen said. “When’s the last time you had a boyfriend? Or even a date? Maybe a little… sugar would loosen you up.”

Gwen didn’t get it. Gwen never lacked for male companionship. Sometimes she had three or four men vying for the chance to take her out for dinner and dancing. But Desi was a loser magnet. She could easily imagine Buck Walker as a buddy, but as a boyfriend? He could have any woman he wanted. Not even Gwen was out of his league.

The microwave dinged. “I have a ton of work to do,” Desi said. “I’ll call you later.”

There was silence on the line, then Gwen said, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“I was just teasing. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

“It’s okay, Gwen. Really. I’ll call you later. Maybe we can watch a movie or something.”

She disconnected but stood for a moment, annoyed at herself for caring what Buck did or did not do. She felt relieved, too, that he’d kept his mouth shut. If he’d mentioned psychic crap to Gwen, then Gwen would have been at her door instead of merely calling.

She set the phone down and pulled the steaming tea from the microwave. Desi held the cup near her nose, hoping for soothing effects. She never got upset about a guy. Sure, she felt lonely sometimes and wished for a little romance. Overall she liked her life. She had a nice house and lots of good friends, and she certainly stayed busy with her work and Rampart. It wasn’t like she mooned around, bored and dissatisfied.

She walked past the breakfast bar and stopped short. The cup slipped from suddenly numb fingers. It bounced on the carpet, splashing her jeans with hot tea. Breath lodged in her throat, and her lungs froze.

All the receipts, invoices and other papers that had been on her desk were now scattered across the floor.

D ESI CHECKED the caller ID. It was Buck.

This had not been a good day. After cleaning up tea stains, broken china and scattered paper, and unable to blame the cat, since he’d been locked in the basement, she’d wasted over an hour trying to figure out how the papers had blown off her desk. She checked every door and window for drafts. She even climbed onto a chair and held a candle around the ceiling light fixture to see if there was an air leak. All that proved was that holding a burning candle near a popcorn-textured ceiling was dumb. She’d had to clean off soot then vacuum the bits of texture material that fell on the floor. She had turned the furnace fan on and off several times. Nothing on her desk so much as twitched. She’d even flipped through news stations on the radio and television to see if Colorado Springs had experienced any seismic activity. Nerved up, jumping at every little noise, she’d managed to finish the monthly bookkeeping for Joe’s restaurant, but it had taken twice as long as usual.

On the fourth ring she answered the cell phone.

“Hi, Desi,” Buck said. “What’s wrong?”

Quit being spooky! “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Do you know what the guys at work call me? The Human Lie Detector.”

Bad enough that apparently a mini-tornado had run through her living room, but now he was going all woo-woo on her. She had chills on top of goose bumps. “Good for you,” she sputtered. “I’m busy. I have to go.”

“Desi, come on, talk to me. Is something going on in your house? I’ve been thinking about you all day. I’m worried.”

Before she could reply, noise blared from the phone and banged against her eardrum. She cried out and almost dropped the cell phone. The screen flared then went black. Though she thumbed the Power button, the phone merely screeched and popped, and a wisp of blue smoke curled from the casing. She flung the phone away, half expecting it to sprout legs and come after her.

For the very first time since she’d signed the papers making this house her own, she wanted to be anywhere but here.

B UCK REDIALED Desi’s number. It went straight to voice mail. He knew for certain she hadn’t hung up on him then turned off her phone. The fear he’d heard in her voice rattled him.

He paced aimlessly through his apartment. He picked up a magazine and set it down. He lifted his old Gibson guitar from the stand. He fingered a few chords and played a few notes, but his nerves were as taut as the guitar strings. Not even a rerun of a college football game on ESPN could hold his attention.

Desi needed him.

He pulled on a coat, picked up his keys and cell phone, and left the apartment.

Ghosts rarely harmed people, he knew. A poltergeist might damage household items, and even slap a person or scratch them, but there was not one credibly documented case of a ghost or poltergeist seriously injuring or killing a person.

Dark Presences, on the other hand, operated by different rules. He didn’t know if they were ghosts at all or were instead something demonic. They did hurt people. They killed.

He drove across town to Desi’s town-house community. He parked in a guest space and got out of the Jeep. He exhaled white clouds. Weather reports predicted snow in the next few days.

An empty parking space drew him. He saw 1411 painted on the asphalt. Desi’s space.

He turned to the double row of town houses designed to vaguely resemble Colonial-style row houses. Most of the windows glowed with interior lights and the flickering of television sets. Number 1411 was dark. He rang the doorbell anyway.

The front door of the neighboring house opened, the storm door squeaking. “Do you look for Desi?” a woman with an accent asked. German, Buck thought.

“Yes, ma’am.” He walked down the steps. “I’m a friend of hers. I tried to call, but she’s not answering. I’m a little worried.”

The woman emanated a touch of suspicious nervousness, but a lot of friendliness, too. The warm, rich, yeasty aromas drifting from the open door made Buck’s belly growl.

The woman flipped her hand. “I tell her, those cell phones are no good. Why do all you young people need to talk, talk, talk all the time? A good black telephone, plugged in the wall, is all you need. You don’t answer? Pah! Let them call back if it’s so important.”

He sensed this woman’s loneliness. She held a lot of good will, too. Desi’s living guardian spirit. “She had trouble with her phone?”